Chapter 27
27
CLAIRE
I woke up alone.
The bed was still warm, Marcus’s scent tangled in the sheets, but he was gone.
For a long moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, my body sore in all the best ways, my mind still sluggish from my nap. The past few days had been a blur of grief, tension, and unanswered questions—but in this bed, with Marcus above me, inside me, claiming me with every rough touch, everything else had disappeared.
And now, he was gone. A thread of unease tightened in my chest.
Marcus didn’t just leave. Not like this.
Something was wrong.
I could feel it in the quiet hum of Dominion Hall, in the absence of his steady presence, in the way the air itself felt heavier, like the walls were keeping secrets.
I gripped the sheets tighter, my stomach knotting.
And then, another thought hit me—Diego’s parents.
The jet Marcus had sent for them was already on its way. Within hours, they’d be landing in Charleston, stepping onto the tarmac expecting answers. Expecting comfort.
I barely survived telling them over the phone.
Hearing María Gil’s sobs crack through the line, listening to the devastation in her voice as she begged me to tell her it wasn’t true—it had nearly broken me.
And now, I’d have to look them in the eye.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to move. I couldn’t think about that right now. Not when I knew, deep in my gut, that Marcus was doing something I wouldn’t be able to ignore.
I forced myself up, pushing tangled hair out of my face. I reached for my phone, squinting at the screen. No messages.
I slid out of bed, grabbed my clothes from the floor and dressed quickly, then padded barefoot toward the door. The hallway was quiet, the whole house still, but something felt off.
Like Dominion Hall was holding its breath.
I checked the op room first. Empty. The kitchen, the gym—nothing.
The ache in my stomach sharpened.
I found Ryker in the armory, cleaning a rifle. He glanced up when I stepped inside, dark eyes unreadable.
“Where’s Marcus?” I asked.
Ryker didn’t answer right away. Just set the rifle down and leaned back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest.
It was subtle, the shift in his expression. But I caught it. He knew where Marcus was. And he wasn’t telling me.
The unease hardened into something heavier.
“Ryker,” I pressed, stepping closer. “Where is he?”
A long pause .
Then, finally, Ryker sighed. “You should stay out of this one, Claire.”
My pulse skipped. This one.
That meant something was happening. Right now.
I took another step forward. “Where. Is. Marcus.”
Ryker studied me, his jaw ticking. Then, with another sigh, he reached for his phone, tapped something, and turned the screen toward me.
A grainy security feed flickered to life.
Concrete walls. A single steel chair. And in it—the kid from the city complex.
The same guy who had been at The Palmetto Rose, watching Diego that night. The one who had answered Hart’s call, stammering, shaking, hiding something.
Now?
Now, he was strapped to a chair, his face already bloody, his body trembling.
And Marcus—my Marcus—was crouched in front of him, fingers digging into his jaw, voice low, controlled, deadly.
My breath caught in my throat.
“Where is this?” My voice barely worked.
Ryker shut off the screen, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “You don’t want to know.”
The finality in his voice sent ice through my veins.
I stepped forward, pulse hammering. “Where is he?”
Ryker exhaled hard, like he was already regretting this conversation. “North Charleston. Near the base.”
I froze. Near the base.
Joint Base Charleston. Military presence. And if Marcus was out there, if Ryker was trying this hard to keep me from asking questions, it wasn’t just some abandoned warehouse.
It was something worse .
Something designed for men like Marcus.
Ryker must have seen the realization dawn in my eyes because his expression darkened. “Don’t do this, Claire.”
A warning. A command.
I ignored both. “He took that kid, didn’t he?”
Ryker’s jaw tightened.
I took another step closer. “Didn’t he?”
His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You don’t get it. That kid is not innocent in this.”
“He’s also not Diego’s killer.” My voice rose, frustration clawing at my throat. “You don’t know that he did anything more than watch.”
Ryker scoffed. “Then he watched your friend die and did nothing. That doesn’t deserve a little incentive to talk?”
I clenched my teeth, breathing hard.
Marcus wasn’t just trying to get answers. He was punishing this guy. Maybe for Diego. Maybe for me. Maybe just because he needed to hurt someone.
And Ryker wasn’t going to help me stop him.
I swallowed, switching tactics. “If this were Izzy?”
Ryker’s expression barely flickered.
I pressed on. “If Izzy had lost her best friend—to someone you knew was guilty, but you couldn’t prove it yet? If she was grieving, lost, drowning in it?” I held his gaze, unwavering. “And she asked you to find the person responsible? Would you stop?”
Ryker’s jaw ticked.
“Would you stop, Ryker?” I repeated, quieter, more dangerous.
His nostrils flared.
“No,” he admitted finally, voice low and rough. “I’d hunt them down.” His gaze turned sharp, something dangerous flickering behind his dark eyes. “I’d take my time. Make them feel it. Make them beg to tell me what I wanted to know.”
I swallowed hard.
“So don’t stand there acting like you don’t understand why he’s doing this,” Ryker said, stepping closer. “Because you do.”
I did. And that was the problem.
I knew Marcus wasn’t just looking for answers. He was looking for retribution. And that meant he wasn’t coming back until he got it.
Unless I stopped him first.
My stomach bottomed out.
Ryker exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I get it, Claire. You want to save him.” His voice dropped. “But you can’t. Not from this.”
I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. “That’s not your call to make.”
“It is when you’re standing in my house asking me to go against my own damn brother,” he shot back. “Marcus is doing what needs to be done.”
I shook my head. “No. He’s doing what he needs. Not what Diego needs. Not what I need.” I took a step forward, leveling my gaze with his. “You can pretend this is about justice all you want, but you and I both know the truth. This is about control. About Marcus holding onto something when everything else is slipping through his fingers.”
Ryker’s jaw clenched. His silence was confirmation enough.
I softened my voice, careful now. “And you’d do the same thing if it were Izzy.”
Something flickered in his dark eyes.
I pressed on. “If someone hurt her, if she lost someone the way I just lost Diego, you’d move heaven and earth to fix it. To take the weight off her shoulders. You’d burn the world down to make sure she never had to carry that pain alone.”
His nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue.
“You have your men watching over her even when she doesn’t ask for it,” I said, tilting my head. “Right now, she’s at the hotel, and I’m willing to bet you’ve got eyes on her. Just in case.”
Ryker’s lips pressed into a thin line.
I nodded. “Because you can’t stand the idea of something happening to her. You feel like you need to protect her, even when she tells you not to. Even when she says she’s fine.”
He let out a long breath. “Yeah.” His voice was lower now. “I do.”
“Then you get it,” I said. “That’s why I need to go to him.”
Ryker’s eyes narrowed. “You really think you showing up is gonna change anything?”
“I think it’s the only thing that can,” I shot back. “If I’m there, he won’t lose himself completely.”
Ryker rolled his shoulders, tension bleeding through. He wasn’t convinced, but he was close.
I moved in for the kill. “If it were Izzy in my place, would you let her go?”
His jaw ticked.
“If she begged you to take her to you—to stop you before you did something you couldn’t come back from—would you really just stand there?” I lowered my voice. “Or would you take her hand and let her try?”
His breath left him in a slow, controlled exhale. He wasn’t looking at me anymore—he was somewhere else, playing out the scenario, seeing Izzy in my place, feeling the way I felt right now.
I held my breath, waiting.
Ryker stayed quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on some unseen point, tension radiating off him like a storm rolling in. I could almost hear the war inside his head—his loyalty to Marcus, his own instincts, the undeniable truth in what I’d just said.
Then he exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You’re making a mistake.”
I swallowed hard. “Maybe. But I have to try.”
He let out another rough breath, muttered a curse, and scrubbed a hand down his face.
I pushed on, voice softer now. “Ryker, he’s just a kid . ”
Ryker’s gaze snapped back to mine, sharp and unreadable.
“He might know something. He might have seen something,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even, to stay logical. “But that doesn’t mean he deserves to be tortured over it.”
Ryker’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t interrupt.
I took a breath, forcing the next words out. “I’ve spent my entire career investigating crime. Murders. People who go missing and never come back. I’ve talked to victims’ families, I’ve followed leads that ran cold, I’ve uncovered things the police were too slow—or too corrupt—to chase down.” I shook my head, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. “And I’ve seen what revenge does to people. It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t bring the dead back. And half the time?” I swallowed. “It makes things worse.”
Ryker didn’t move, but something shifted behind his eyes.
I pressed on. “I get it. I do. Marcus is furious. So am I. Diego is dead, and we don’t know why. We don’t know who really pulled the strings. But hurting this guy?” I shook my head. “This isn’t justice. It’s just pain looking for somewhere to land.”
Ryker exhaled slowly, but the muscle in his jaw kept ticking. “Marcus doesn’t see it that way.”
“Then maybe someone needs to make him.”
A long silence stretched between us.
Then Ryker pulled out his keys, cursing under his breath..
“Get in the damn car,” he muttered.
Relief crashed over me so fast my knees nearly buckled.
But I couldn’t fall apart now.
I turned and strode out of the armory, my steps echoing against the polished floors of Dominion Hall. The weight of what I was about to do pressed down on me, but I forced my legs to keep moving.
Halfway down the hall, I veered toward Marcus’s room. “Give me two minutes,” I called over my shoulder.
Ryker didn’t argue.
I shoved the door open and grabbed my leather satchel from where I’d left it by the bed, slinging it over my shoulder with shaky fingers. My heart was still pounding, adrenaline making my limbs feel too light, too unsteady. I stepped into the bathroom, twisting the faucet on, and splashed cold water over my face, letting the shock of it ground me.
Breathe. Focus.
I ran a brush through my hair, pulling it into a quick ponytail, then grabbed a fresh shirt from my bag and yanked it on. I didn’t have time for more than that.
I caught my reflection in the mirror as I turned to leave. My cheeks were still flushed, my eyes bright with something sharp and determined.
Good.
I slung my satchel higher onto my shoulder, squared my jaw, and headed for the door.
Ryker was waiting by the front entrance, keys in hand, expression unreadable.
I nodded once. “Let’s go.”